


No God Down Here

by Orbikki



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abusing RESETs, Asriel is a cinnamon roll, Can you spot the yandere, Chara is a male, Chara never died, Escalation, F/M, Fluff, Implied nymphomania, It gets dark, Neither did Azzy, Questioning of religion, Romantic Elements, Sexual Content, Sudden smut, Unrequited Love, bad intentions, frisk is a female, horrific elements, mentions of abuse, mild descriptions of self-harm, where are the knives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-02 14:43:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10946658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orbikki/pseuds/Orbikki
Summary: Frisk is a sinner, guilt-ridden, yet unable to change. However, when the world changes around her and she winds up on the underside of it all, she believes it is time to fix herself. She believes she has been given her a second chance in this 'Underground' and she's determined not to spoil it. But determination is easily defeated by her own desire and as Frisk is tested again and again, she wonders if this is really a second chance, or her own personal hell.





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's on the path to forgiveness and mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh geez, I'm starting another fic? I just can't help myself. This isn't going to be a very long story, but it should be updated regularly, since it is already 100 percent finished! Whoop!!
> 
> Also: I was Baptist in my early years of life. I respect all religions and Frisk's is kinda just based off of what I remember and what I've seen in movies, there may be elements of a few religions mixed into it. Not here to offend, religion is simply used as a vehicle in this fic.
> 
> Okay, enjoy.

She should’ve seen it coming.

Frisk pressed into the back of the closet, wishing she could sink to into the wall, swallowed up by the sweaters and jackets that hang above her. Lines of light striped across her face and the hand she had cupped over her mouth, muffling her whimpers.

She should’ve expected something like this.

Frisk’s other hand palmed her necklace through the knit of her blue and pink sweater, red staining the sleeves.

She must’ve fallen into the worst pit of hell.

Hearing his voice again, a mere chuckle, forced her eyes to squeeze shut. Her chest felt as if it would burst with the incessant pounding of her heart and the pressure of contained breaths. 

“Where’d you go, sweet thing?”

Forgive,  _oh god_ , please forgive her, father.

“Fun fact about me: I love a good chase!”

Frisk has sinned.

The floorboards creaked, she could hear them through the paper thin walls. He was in the hall. Bating her, taunting her. Frisk prayed he wouldn’t find her… but how couldn’t he? She’d hidden in a closet. She opened her eyes during a stretch of silence. Frisk almost screamed bloody murder when she saw the light from the cracked door grow, spilling into the room as it opened, a pale hand delicately poised on the door knob. The hand was speckled with red.

“Come, on sweet thing…”

She could hear the sadism in his voice, the joy he derived from all of this.

“It’ll be quick I promise…”

Frisk saw the glint of the knife and she closed her eyes again.

_Creak… Creak… Creeeeaaaakk…_

She was trembling now, hand clenched so tightly around her necklace that the cross had torn through the holes of her sweater and dug into her skin. She stopped breathing all together and it was purely silent.

_Forgive me, lord… Forgive my trespasses..._

She opened her eyes to red.

“God help me!” She screamed.

He grinned, carmine eyes ablaze with sinister joy, white canines pointed devilishly.

“There is no God down here, Frisk.”

 

* * *

 

 She fell.

Frisk looked up at the small spot of light in the very distant ceiling of whatever sort of cave she was in.

How she hadn’t died was beyond her.

Frisk laid surrounded by beautiful golden flowers, large petals all glistening with dew. They smelled similar honeysuckle _and_ lavender. It was unlike any scent she’d ever known, unique to these _golden flowers._ Her brown hair was splayed around her, waves brightened by the single beam of sunlight that poured down from far above.

She was neither hot nor cold. She was in pain. She was dazed. This isn’t something they prepare you for at church.

This must be her punishment for defying him. For defying God.

Frisk has sinned.

Sitting up was difficult. Her back felt as if it were broken in eight places and her skull was splitting with a headache; yet she only bled from a few scrapes on her legs and arms, gifts from all the branches and shrubberies that had failed to stop her as she rolled into the giant hole that led her here.

She wasn’t sure where _here_ was exactly. She had half a mind to call it Hell. But would Hell have flowers like this? Would it smell this nice?

She saw no child skulls lining the path in front of her, she heard no fellow sinners screaming in unrelenting agony. No one was strung by their entrails, dangling over pits of fire. Instead, she was simply alone.

Frisk brought herself to her feet. Perhaps, God has a plan for her yet.

Frisk’s sweater dress was torn, split up the side, matching a particularly nasty gash she had running along her thigh- one she had not received from the fall, but from the whipping before. Frisk could still feel the rain and leather on her skin, she could could still hear her own meek little voice counting with each strike _(“O-One… two!")._ Her tall socks were bunched at the tops of her boots and she reached down to pull them up in an attempt to get warmer and cover her abused legs.

The cave was full of life, yet also empty. Vines climbed the wall, those mysterious golden flowers bloomed neatly in patches. Like someone were tending them. Even the vines looked kempt. Not to mention… There was a path. Little stepping stones made of scintillating crystal. Her brown eyes couldn’t pinpoint the color, but it was simply breathtaking.

There was a stone arch ahead, three shallow steps leading up to it. Frisk climbed them with some effort, knees throbbing a little as she bent them. Darkness swallowed her, but then there was light.

Torches lit along the walls and crystals began to glow as well. The flames were pure yellow. No orange or red. A beautiful glow. Frisk was entranced.

She had no desire to take a single crystal, she wished not to remove a single thing from its place… She only wished to know: Just where was she?

She continued down the narrow tunnel with stone walls, clearly man made, not naturally eroded. She hadn’t come across a single person, but the place around her seemed rich with personality. She didn’t feel lonely. She felt free.

She stretched her arms around herself and spun, dark blue sweater dress remaining close to her body. Frisk began to run, she skipped, she sang hymns. And no one told her to stop.

There was a bridge ahead and Frisk dashed to it, halting when she noticed tall spikes adorning it. She felt no reluctance, but slowed her pace. She saw a path, it came to her like a memory. Frisk knew exactly which steps to take.

“The lord’s light?” She asked aloud, unsure how else she was being guided through. With each step, the spikes retracted. Forward, left, right, forward, left, forward again, and she emerged uninjured on the other side.

That was not her last obstacle, either. The lord’s light guided her through each puzzle that presented itself to her. This tunnel, cave, whatever she was it… it was extensive, made to keep others out. But she saw the way.

Why? Why was she permitted? She was a sinner, was she not? Still she took the blessing and counted it.

It had been hours and Frisk felt no more lonely, only tired. Her pace had slowed, but she pressed on. Her necklace swayed from side to side with each step, grazing the swell of her chest. Frisk could hear chatter ahead, laughter too.

She stopped, then.

Just who could be ahead? She closed her eyes and inhaled, uncertainty weighing within. What would they ask? What could she tell them? The truth, she supposed. She was guided here by the lord’s light. She was on the pathway to forgiveness and mercy. Her brown eyes reopened, glinting with determination.

The voices grew more distinctly male as she drew nearer. Frisk could see their forms moving ahead, in front of a grand tree which blocked a small cottage.

Her steps grew loud as she walked into fallen leaves, autumn colored. She could hear the strangers rustling as well, their words finally comprehensible.

“Come on Asriel! You’re so slow!”

“I’m right behind you!”

“Who has the ball though?”

The forms were running around the tree, kicking a ball. Frisk squinted and her face heated up. Shirtless, they were both shirtless.

Attractively so.

She slapped a hand over her eyes and made a small noise.

_Resist temptation, you are on the path of the lord’s light._

Once calmed, she dropped her hand… and was just as affected. Though more intrigued this time…

The taller one was pure white, like snow… he had pristine white _fur._ A face like a goat… though teeth like a wolf, small horns protruded from his head. There was a blush bleeding through his fur and he seemed to be flustered with what the other was doing. He was built like a lumberer, strong arms and thighs, lean torso. Yet his massive hands and claw-like nails were as clean as the rest of him. Like he hadn’t worked a day in his life.

Frisk’s eyes moved to the other, a human just like her. He was shorter than the goat-like creature, but not by much. She tried to keep her eyes on his face, which was slim and pale, but her eyes kept dropping to his body.

He reminded her of the first boy she’d seen shirtless.

He was paler than the second.

Slimmer than the third.

Frisk thought about the third again and inhaled a sharp breath.

Her hand traveled under the hem of her sweater dress and she pinched her inner thigh.

_Unclean._

This boy was sinewy, petite, yet taller than her. She could see that his pants barely clung to him; the V between his hips like an arrow to dangerous ideas. She had to look away then, not even sure what she would think if her thoughts went any lower.

She could feel her filthy mind working itself, this must be a test. The lord was testing her to see if she would be able to resist temptation; if she would be able to live this second-life unspoiled by greed.

Her legs slowly moved. She approached them, eyes returning to the tall… goat-like person.

He looked monstrous, honestly, but kind. Her heart held no fear; she felt like he would be the kind to listen. She wanted to touch his fur, he was so different… man yet animal.

Man all the same.

She looked to the human, his bone-straight brown hair tied into a short ponytail, large hand pushing his bangs back as he struggled to keep the ball away from the other. He had the fingers of a pianist, slim, dainty, _skilled._

Frisk’s heart jolted with fear.

She would be leery of him.

Her crunching steps drew their attention when she was close enough and that’s when she met his eyes.

Green. A demon with green eyes. Maybe not a demon at all, then.

“He-Hello…” She said. The boys froze. The kind one stepped forward, “Hello?” His voice was so warm.

“Asriel, get father,” the human said, red eyes commanding. The demon, ‘Asriel,’ looked concerned, he hesitated. _“Now,”_ Red eyes emphasized. Frisk recognized a shift in power.

“I won’t be long!” She watched Asriel turn and run behind the large tree, his eyes connected with hers before he vanished into the cottage.

Her heart was pounding and to her displeasure, the human stepped closer. He couldn’t be much older than her, not a single wrinkle on his smooth face. She could see sweat glistening like diamonds on his porcelain skin.

“I-I don’t mean any harm… J-Just lost…” She was stuttering, all the determination she had built up seemed to be sucked away into oblivion.

When he said nothing, she forced her gaze up and jumped slightly at the large grin he was sporting. He was so close to her and still hadn’t said a word. His long lashes fanned down as he looked her face over, he leaned forward and Frisk heard him draw in a long breath.

 _“Still sweet,”_   he said.

Frisk was petrified. This one intimidated her.

“Chara!” The boy turned around and stepped away from Frisk’s trembling form and waved. Asriel had returned with… a larger Asriel. He was thicker, taller, horns huge, completed with a long blonde beard and strong face.

The devil.

Frisk collapsed.

 

* * *

 

She woke to the sound of arguing.

“You’ve killed the poor creature!”

“She’s still breathing, Tori!”

“Ah! Why didn’t you come get me, Asriel!?"

“I-I—”

“Don’t bring him into this!”

Frisk sat up, sweating under the seven blankets that had been thrown on her. She’d never felt so swaddled in her life.

There was another goat monster, yet they held no horns. They wore a deep purple dress with a modest neckline and waist. Frisk connected them to the female voice.

Asriel caught her observant gaze, “She’s awake?”

Everyone turned and Frisk grew self conscious. “Oh thank goodness!” cried the lady demon. She rushed to Frisk’s side, “I made you some pie dear, savory… you’ve got quite a bit of bruising and scrapes from your fall.”

Frisk tilted her head, “How’d you know…” She cleared her throat, removing some gravel from her voice, “How’d you know I fell?”

The lady’s amber eyes drew away to look back at the devil. He shrugged. The demon boy looked concerned.

“Well, dear… That’s the only way you’ve could’ve gotten here.”

Frisk was unsurprised, “Oh.”

As she ate the pie, the monsters (that’s really the name of their species, they weren’t demons) introduced themselves. Toriel was the woman, wife of Asgore (surprisingly not the devil), and mother of Asriel, the boy. He wasn’t a boy really, but Frisk wasn’t sure what to call him.

“What about the… uh… the other human?” Frisk asked.

Asriel looked around, “Oh he isn’t in here. Uh, that’s Chara. My brother. He fell too… a long time ago.”

Asgore laughed, “It really feels like yesterday, humans grow very quickly, you see. Compared to monsters, that is.”

“Chara,” Frisk tasted the name. It tasted like her vocal chords rubbing themselves raw. It tasted like iron. It tasted like pain.

Irrational. She’s irrational. Frisk’s wounds healed after she finished the pie, including the lashes, though pale scars were left behind as thin scars that wrapped around her calves. She grew very sleepy afterward, Toriel explained that it was normal and then the Dreemurr family left her to rest.

All except one, at least.

He crept in while she slept and tapped her forehead to wake her up. She did so, groggily, her body screaming at her to let her eyes close.

“We didn’t get a chance to introduce ourselves… Sorry about that,” He spoke with a smile. He smelled like those golden flowers, the tang of sweat gone.

“Chara,” Frisk said, “Your name is Chara.”

He chuckled lowly and looked over her face like he had done earlier, “It is. But who are you, sweet thing?”

The tiny hairs on the back of Frisk’s neck stood up, “Why do you call me that?” She asked quietly. His carmine eyes widened a little and he stepped forward to sit on the edge of her bed, “Because it’s what you are…” His fingers grazed her cheek, “Sweet…” He lifted his hand away, simpering. Frisk’s heart flipped, but so did her stomach. She stared into the red pools of his eyes, the air grew palpable, she wasn’t sure what with.

What is it with him?

Why did he speak like he knew her?

“I’m sorry if I come on a little strong…” He broke the silence, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck, “Never, uh, seen a human girl before. At least, not that I can remember.”

Frisk’s brows lifted, _so that’s what all this is about. He’s curious._ “O-Oh…” She said quietly, sleepily, “Well… My name is Frisk, then. I’d prefer you call me that as opposed to…”

 _“Sweet thing?”_ Chara smirked, “Very well, Frisk.” The way he said her name didn’t really help. He met her eyes again, they looked calmer now, “I suppose I should let you rest now, hm?”

Frisk stared at him, did he want her to say yes? Isn’t that rude? “I… I am tired,” She replied neutrally. She felt the mattress raise as he stood, dressed in a dark green sweater, collar of a button up peeking out from around his neck. “Alright,” he said. “Sweet dreams, Frisk…”

She closed her eyes.

The dreams weren’t sweet at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penny for your thoughts?


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk is settled in with the Dreemurrs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one week? Who am I??
> 
> Honestly this chapter is kind of.. meh, I'll probably revise it later.
> 
> It might just seem lacking to me because nothing super awful is happening, but I digress.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Frisk got to know the Dreemurrs fairly well. Asriel, despite his hulking appearance, was one of the kindest people Frisk had ever met, her intuition had been spot on. He was as pure as his fur coat. He often had trouble looking her in the eye and his bashfulness always added to hers, their conversations were filled with stutters and giggles.

Her conversations with Chara were much different. They were full of silence and eye contact. He rarely made comments, but when he did Frisk was left speechless. Willfully so, she simply had nothing to say to him. He carried himself with such pride, chest forward, head up, brown locks flowing, golden highlights glowing. His red eyes reminded Frisk of the forbidden fruit.

She vowed never to be tempted.

He wasn't her type anyways.

As disgusting as having a _type_ was.

Asgore and Toriel were as kind as their eldest son, though not always to each other. They constantly bickered, Frisk could sometimes hear them from their bedroom, loud hearty voices bouncing down the halls. Still she could tell they loved each other and she had a sense that the bickering was just how they showed it, sometimes.

Toriel was the best baker Frisk had ever met. In the three weeks she’d been there, Frisk had tasted more pies than she could imagine. Breakfast pie, blossom pie, berry pie, chocolate pie, butterscotch pie, cinnamon pie, and (a personal dislike) snail pie.

Frisk still isn’t sure just why God had her fall down here, she asks him every night in her prayers. He hasn’t answered, but she is beginning to think that whatever she's meant to do in this second chance… she’s doing it.

All she's received are rewards. In the forms of laughter, embraces, warm meals, and hot showers.

In the form of… a family.

Frisk had never known a family, really. She’d been an orphan for as long as she could remember. A smile had broken out on her lips when she thought about the possibility of this being God’s way of making up for that, a reward to her for keeping the faith despite how her life has been.

Frisk was on her tip toes, struggling to place a mug she’d just cleaned onto the top shelf of the cabinet where they belonged. She and Asriel were doing the dishes tonight, Chara was supposed to help, but like every other night he skipped out. Frisk didn’t mind (much) though and Asriel wasn’t the type to complain.

“Need help?”

Frisk looked over her shoulder and found Asriel looking at her with a happy expression, he was wearing a dark green sweater with a single yellow stripe, the exact same as Chara’s. Frisk had learned it was custom for youth to wear stripes in the Underground, the official title of where she’d fallen. Frisk hadn’t had a chance to leave the Dreemurr’s home, but Toriel promised to take her shopping in a nearby town soon enough. Until then Frisk alternated between her sweater dress (conveniently striped) and Asriel’s shirts as pajamas (his shirts were long enough to be dresses on her).

“Oh, uh, that would be nice, thanks.” Frisk gave him the mug and he put it as well as a few others away for her.

Frisk started putting away the silverware, opened a few wrong drawers before finally finding the correct one.

“Hey Frisk,” Asriel said. She mumbled ‘hm?’ with her back turned to him, organizing the forks, spoons, and knives

“Who is it you talk to every night, beside your bed?”

Her fingers faltered, but she giggled slightly, “God,” she said.

“A god?” Asriel’s voice pitched. “Which one?”

Frisk finished up and closed the drawer with her hip, leaning back against the counter and looking at Asriel.

“The only one,” she said simply.

Asriel tilted his head, “The only one?” he echoed, lower part of his muzzle between his thumb and index finger.

He looked adorable with that bemused expression on his features.

Frisk stepped forward. “There is only one true God, Asriel. He may just be the culmination of every one of the gods you know… but he is very real.”

“God’s a he?” Asriel inquired.

Frisk paused. She’d only heard god referred to as a he, though he isn’t a man per say. “I suppose it’s irrelevant… though, I can’t say I know really. No one can, his form is incomprehensible to minds like ours.” She tapped her temple for emphasis. A variety of questions flitted over Asriel’s face, but he only asked one: “What is he like, then?”

Frisk supplied an extensive list of adjectives: Kind, forgiving, merciful, strong, loving, intimidating, wondrous…

Asriel seemed amazed and somehow they had made themselves comfortable on the kitchen floor, sitting on the cool tile, across from each other. Frisk told Asriel all about God and he compared her tales to stories of the old gods of the Underground. Frisk concluded that the twelve gods were fragments of her one God, just split into simpler parts.

Asriel liked that idea.

Frisk liked it too.

It gave them a common ground.

Frisk found out that the Dreemurrs didn’t actively participate with the local church, she was a little shocked, but she’d figured as much. Not once was she taken to a gathering.

“So your God… he created everything?”

“Yes,” Frisk explained. “Land and sea, dark and light, man and beast-” Frisk saw hurt flash over Asriel’s face. She furrowed her brows, “What is it?” She asked.

“Beast?” Asriel repeated, head dropping slightly, Frisk could see his horns better at this angle and found herself getting an idea of what upset him. “Do you… see a beast when you look at me, Frisk?”

Frisk shook her head vigorously, waves of hair flying. Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed a hand onto Asriel’s knee. He was like a furnace.

“No! Absolutely not! I will admit… I was frightened when I first met you…” That didn’t seem to make him feel better, Frisk spoke quickly. “But… when I look at you, I just see _Asriel._ Not a beast. You’re kind, kinder than many humans I’ve met…”

She wasn't exactly sure when she stopped seeing a divide between herself and the monsters, when she stopped noting the fur, horns, and claws. But her words rang true within her. Frisk's thoughtful smile twitched as Asriel's large hand covered hers. Her eyes widened.

“I think you’re kind too, Frisk. And, uh—” He glanced to the side, “—very pretty. Even prettier than Chara.”

Frisk laughed at that, head falling back. She laughed so hard that tears came to her eyes. Chara often prided himself on his looks, he was in the mirror at the end of the hall very often, far more than any of the Dreemurrs.

She heard Asriel laughing along with her and when she reopened her eyes, she found him gazing at her with a cordial green gaze. “Thank you…” She said.

It was double sided though.

Frisk was also thanking God.

She thanked him for bringing such an amazing person into her life.

 

* * *

 

The Dreemurr home was much bigger than it appeared on the outside and oftentimes it felt huge because Toriel and Asgore were constantly away. Frisk still wasn’t sure what it was they did. Frisk was given bed in the guest room, right across from Asriel and Chara’s room. She found it cute that they shared a room; Asriel had been embarrassed about it, especially since the walls were covered in childhood drawings.

“Check out this one!” Chara laughed, untacking a paper from its spot on the wall. Frisk honestly wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but there was an arrow that pointed to it labeling the blob of gray and orange 'mom.'

“Chara! Don’t show her that!” Asriel said.

Frisk laughed and took the paper from the younger Dreemurr, chuckling with him. Their fingers brushed, she hardly noticed.

“Frisk!” Asriel exclaimed from the other side of the room, “It’s bad, I know.”

It was even worse up close, if she were being honest. “What’s all the orange?” Frisk asked, walking away from Chara to sit by Asriel on his bed.

“It’s probably Mom’s magic,” Chara supplied, leaning back against the desk across from his bed, legs crossed, arms folded.

“Magic?” Frisk asked. She saw Asriel nod beside her. “Monsters are made of magic and they use it to do some pretty cool stuff. Mom’s manifests itself in fire, so does my Dad’s… Though he can enchant objects too,” Asriel said. He leaned towards Frisk and she felt his shoulder against hers, for a second her entire right side was on overheated. He circled the orange area with a claw, “That’s what all the orange is… Hah… fire, y’know?”

Frisk was hardly listening, she leaned against him slightly and (in the most subtle way she could) smelled him. He smelled like cinnamon and soap. “Can you… do magic?” She asked, batting her lashes a bit.

Chara scoffed loudly. “He just said—”

 _“Chara…”_ Asriel chided, smiling at his brother happily, “This stuff is confusing, I don’t mind explaining it, really. Remember when Ma and Dad taught you all about it?”

Chara rolled his eyes and Frisk smirked, quickly dropping it when Asriel turned back towards her. She stared at his teeth as he spoke, wondering how they would feel on her skin.

She didn’t pinch herself though, quickly distracted by the bright display of white fire in Asriel’s large palm. Frisk squeaked and backed away. Asriel’s boisterous laugh was music to her ears, “It’s not too scary, I hope?”

Frisk relaxed and shook her head. “It’s not, no. I was just surprised.”

“He counted to three,” Chara stated from across the room, he was lounged across his bed now, reading quietly. Frisk’s eyes widened— _had he?_   She shot Chara a ‘butt out’ expression and turned back to the bright white flame, a small prism of colors seemed to dance deep inside.

“My parents aren’t really sure what to call it yet, it’s still fire magic, but it’s not hot, see?” He nudged the flame towards Frisk and she hesitantly poked it. It didn’t feel like much, though it tingled slightly.

“It’s like light,” She said.

The flame vanished and Asriel grinned, “Like sunlight?”

Frisk basked in the rays of his smile and nodded slowly. “Yeah, just like sunlight,” she said. Her heart was thumping in her chest. Was it really possible for anyone to be so large yet so cute?

Three knocks on the door sent both Frisk and Asriel into a panic. She heard Chara groan and then move to the door, opening it, “Hey, Ma.”

“What's going on in here?” Toriel inquired. Frisk saw the top of her white furry head peeking through the door, over Chara. She smiled, “Did you show Frisk the new joke book I bought?”

Asriel was the one groaning now, “Mom, no one likes those stupid jokes…”

Toriel giggled, “I very much disagree! A dear friend of mine recommended it—”

 _“Mom!”_   Both Chara and Asriel exclaimed in unison.

“I think jokes are nice, actually,” Frisk said in a small voice.

Both Asriel and Chara looked at the girl, who reflexively stared at her lap.

“Where's the book?” Chara asked.

“I guess they aren't _that_ stupid,” Asriel said in agreement.

Toriel giggled and shook her head, eyelids lowering knowingly. “I’ll fetch it from the shelf after dinner, how about you all set the table, hm?”

“Sure thing, Ma,” Chara said as he moved away from the door. Toriel smiled, looking the three over before leaving the room. Frisk heard Asgore yell something at her and she shouted back. She heard them laugh too.

Their marriage was still so strange to her.

“Alright," Chara began once Toriel's footsteps retreated, "have fun setting the table and all that-”

 _“Really?”_ Frisk interrupted. She noticed Asriel’s green eyes widening.

“Really… what?” Chara challenged, hand on the door knob. He cocked up and brow and tilted his head, silky short hair moving with him.

Frisk sighed, simmering slightly before speaking again in a calmer tone. “Come help us with the table. Please?”

Chara stared at her with a blank expression, his red eyes looking to Frisk, then to Asriel. “Us?” he echoed. He gave a half-wave and opened the door before leaving out of it.

Frisk grumbled and laid back on the bed. She took Asriel’s pillow and shoved it over her face. She screamed words into it.

“What?” Asriel said, falling down beside her, laid on his side, head resting on the palm of his hand.

Frisk brought the pillow away from her face and looked over at Asriel, his nose much closer to hers than she realized. “I said he’s such a brat!” Frisk exclaimed.

Asriel laughed, it was deep, she could tell the sounds barreled right from his chest. His broad, muscular chest. She swallowed.

“You know… come to think of it,” Asriel mumbled, “He totally is a brat.”

He looked at Frisk and she stared at him.

They both burst into giggles.

Frisk felt Asriel's dull claw poke at her side and she squealed, curling away from it.

She loved the way he smiled at her.

“We’d better go set the table anyways before my mom barbecues us.” He sat up and then stood, reaching a large hand out to Frisk. She took it, fingers curling around his. He pulled her to her feet.

She hesitantly let go of his hand as the made their way to the dinner table.

Frisk was good with chores. She had to do them constantly at her old home, though she’d never thought of the orphanage as a home. She scrubbed floors, wiped down baths, cleaned dishes, washed laundry, made beds, and most frequently, her and the others set the long dining room tables.

Doing simple chores in the Dreemurr home was a breeze compared to that.

Chara didn’t vacate the premises, surprisingly. He simply watched Asriel and Frisk set the table from Toriel’s comfy reading chair. Frisk could feel his eyes burning on her back and she constantly threw glares over her shoulder.

She could hear his airy chuckles right in her ear, like she were perfectly attuned for them.

Toriel and Asgore sat at the ends of the table. Chara and Asriel sat beside each other and Frisk sat across from them, alone. Frisk was surprised they weren’t having pie. Toriel had whisked the cover off of the container and revealed: three enormous snails. Her face scrunched up and she decided maybe the garden salad wouldn’t be the worst main course in the world.

“Hand over your plate, Frisk. I’ll serve you.”

Her brow twitched, she met Chara’s dark red eyes. “O-Oh, uh…” She looked around, everyone’s eyes were on her expectantly. She cleared her throat, “How kind of you,” her voice was lame. Asriel stifled laughter and Chara’s grin grew. She handed over her plate. She watched his hands as he lifted the knife. Something inside of her pulled tight and she jumped, knees bumping the table as he cut into the cooked snail with ease, tip of the knife clinking the tray from the bottom of the escargot.

“Frisk?” Asriel asked, tilting his head.

Frisk blinked a few times. She forced a smile. “Hah, sorry about that…” She looked at Chara, who was still putting pieces of snail onto her plate. She watched the greyish meat slide off the knife and fall onto her plate, metal dripping. Chara's eyes remained on Frisk the entire time. Her mouth went dry. “Uh, may I be excused from the table? Bathroom.”

Asgore and Toriel lifted their brows. “There’s no need to ask, Frisk,” Asgore said. “Go on, dear,” said Toriel.

Frisk scooted back from the table and quickly made her way down the hall. She slipped into the bathroom and pressed against the closed door. 

_What is going on with me?_

All she could think about was the closet in Asriel and Chara’s room. Being inside of that closet.  _The knife in Chara's hand._

Frisk moved to the sink. She turned on the faucet and splashed her face with water, then washed her hands just to busy herself. She glanced at her reflection and smiled a little. She’d never seen herself looking this healthy.

Healthy. That's right, things are good down here. Frisk shut off the water and steadied herself.  _No more knives, no more closets._  

Asriel was before her when she opened the door, fist raised as if he were about to knock. He dropped his hand and scratched the back of his neck, “Ah, sorry… I just wanted to see if, uh… You were…”

“I’m okay,” Frisk said. She smiled at him, forgetting her little moment. “I’m okay now.”

They returned to the table together. Her eyes were glued to Asriel’s back. The shirt he was wearing was almost too tight, she could see the divots the muscles of his back made, his broad shoulder stretched the yellow fabric. She pinched her inner thigh, she shouldn’t think about her nails dragging down the soft fur there.

_Disgusting, disgusting…_

Frisk noticed the frown on Chara’s face when her and Asriel sat down. She tried not to. The plate wasn’t solely snail, like she believed Chara would make it (just to grate her nerves). In fact, it was portioned perfectly. A wave of nostalgia hit Frisk when she looked at the salad. There were seeds and strawberries mixed into the greens.

Frisk prayed over her food quickly, then dug into the salad first, cheeks full of fresh leafy greens. “This is… delicious!” Frisk exclaimed after swallowing.

“Chara said you would like it,” Toriel chimed, “He recommended it! Fruit in a salad? I thought the idea was a bit silly, but,” She took a bite and chewed. “It’s delectable!”

Frisk raised a brow and looked to Chara. He shrugged, “You liked this type of thing on the surface, right?”

Asriel looked to Frisk too.

“Yeah, I really did…” She said.

 _Just when did I tell you that?_   She thought, asking Chara with her eyes. He simply looked away, passing the salad bowl.

The rest of dinner went without any strange incidents. The entire Dreemurr family was chatting and Frisk was too. Asriel and Chara’s eyes sparkled when Toriel brought chocolate pie to the table for dessert. Frisk wasn’t too fond of chocolate, but a small slice was perfect to sate her sweet tooth.

Toriel told jokes that brought Frisk to tears. Asgore told stories that made his sons groan. Frisk loved every minute.

Then dinner ended and, much to Frisk’s amusement, Toriel assigned cleanup to Chara alone. She and Asgore retired downstairs to the study they had in the basement. Frisk had never been into the basement. It looked dark… ominous.

Time worked a little differently in the Underground. There was a general consensus on when to sleep, but no actual night or day like she was used to. Just a 'lights out', whenever things got slow and sleepy.

Asriel hung back with Chara in the kitchen, telling Frisk he’d catch her later. He just needed to make sure that Chara wouldn’t slack.

Frisk realized that meant Asriel would end up doing everything.

It made her smile. He was so generous and giving.

Naive.

Frisk grabbed a pen and some paper before going outside into the yard. She sat under the tree and sketched the area around her. Her hand cramped halfway through, it had been so long since she’d drawn. Even on the surface, she scarcely got to do it. The mistress found it unnecessary. Frisk reckoned the woman found Frisk unnecessary too.

She leaned her head back, she could feel the rough bark through her waves of brown hair. If only the mistress knew what God had done for her. Frisk smirked. Frisk reckoned she had a better life now than that prude ever did.

And better yet... her eyes closed.

She had Asriel.

Still, she was restless.

In the back of her mind, she feared the day his smiles wouldn't be enough. She hoped some of that boyish pureness of his would rub off on her before then; that her despicable second-nature would be smothered by his good.

She prayed that God would give her strength.

Frisk fell asleep under the tree, unaware of the youngest Dreemurr who watched her from the window. His eyes narrowed, fingers resting on the cool glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, things are going to pick up and end very quickly. I'm sure you see the chapter count. Not gonna be a long fic, which I why I kinda had to cram all the family shenanigans into this chapter.
> 
> Anyone spy a ship?


	3. Chapter Three*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the rest of this fic is pretty explicit, do heed the rating, finally.
> 
> WARNINGS: Smut c:

Frisk couldn’t help but feel slightly dejected, the house was empty and she had no idea where everyone had gone off to. She wondered if the Dreemurr family was ashamed of her. She wondered if they didn’t want to be seen in public with her. Her thoughts held no base; they were unsound, simply growing from her own worries. Still, she thought them.

Frisk headed to the guest room, her own room really. With a yawn, she closed the door behind her, stretching her arms over her head after. The light blue walls of the guest room and warm patterned rug greeted her. She didn’t bother turning the oil lamp on, the light from the hall that streamed in under the door was enough.

Frisk slipped her dress off, folding it neatly at the end of her bed. She tugged one of Asriel’s shirts over her head, appreciating its scent. He never hesitated when she asked to borrow a shirt, never questioned it. The first time, he blushed a little, but she doubted it meant the same thing to him. For a split second she imagined his warm arms were the fabric, wrapped around her bare body.

_Sinful._

Frisk felt disgusting for pulling such a pure creature into her lecherous thoughts. She pinched herself for it, right at her inner thigh.

She’s had to do that more and more lately.

Asriel was not like her others. He wasn’t a lusting beast, for lack of better phrasing. He was caring and sweet. Almost cherubic.

Frisk brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and fell back onto the bed, letting out a sigh.

“So what did you and Azzy talk about during dinner yesterday?”

Frisk sat up immediately. Chara Dreemurr stood in the doorway, his hair was damp, droplets of water dripping from his darkened locks onto his shoulders. He wore a thin robe, dark green, just like his sweater. It was untied, revealing his shallow navel and gray shorts.

"What was it that bothered you at the table?" He continued.

Frisk flushed. “H-How long have you been standing there!?”

“Long enough.” He sauntered into the room, looking around as if it wasn't a room in his own home. “You like wearing my brother’s shirts?” He asked, eyes not meeting hers.

Frisk was quiet.

He tilted his head in her direction, Frisk saw one red iris lock onto her. “Well?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I-I guess… yeah…”

Chara looked away again, Frisk wasn’t sure if he was smiling or if his lips just rested in the smallest of smirks naturally. “You like my brother?”

Frisk looked down, “Why are you asking me this?” Her hands made fists on her lap, nails scraping over the skin of her thighs, faint red lines left behind.

“He’s too good for you.”

Frisk nearly stopped breathing, she dragged her eyes up to meet his. “Stop it,” she said.

Chara was looking at her now, grinning clearly, cheeks pink as usual. “See? That right there is proof-”

“Stop-”

“You even know it’s true.”

Frisk’s eyes bored into her lap. She did know it was true. Frisk was filthy. She was disgusting. Impure.

Asriel was so pure; she craved that. She craved him, it was putrid.

“He likes you too, you know… Raves about, he really does. It’s only a matter of time before…” Frisk felt cool fingers under her chin, her head tilted up and she was met with Chara’s red gaze and milky skin, his pink lips drawn into a smile. “Someone makes a move…” he mumbled, his eyes dropping her her lips.

Frisk swallowed.

Her hand slid between her thighs and she pinched hard enough to break skin. She shook her head away from his touch and he chuckled lowly.

“Then things will be painted in that happy pink glow of puppy love and all that sap…” He spun languidly, arms outstretched slightly. He paused mid spin. “But then what?” His smile dropped, “It won’t be enough for you…”

Frisk stood up, hands balled at her sides. “Please stop this, Chara…”

“Stop what? Looking out for my beloved brother?”

Frisk’s brows knitted. Did Asriel need protecting from her? She looked away, falling quiet again and allowing Chara to continue subjecting her to his torment.

“You’ll want more… More than simple touches… short embraces… chaste kisses…” Chara circled Frisk slowly, red eyes alluring and luminous, lidded with sinister intent. “You know… I heard you mumble a word in your sleep, once.”

“Why were you in一”

_“Sin…”_

Frisk was silenced.

“Are you a sinner, Frisk?”

_Yes._

“Are your thoughts about my innocent brother already shifting?”

_Yes._

“You want to do filthy things to him don’t you?”

“Chara please, stop…” she whimpered, legs trembling.

“No… You want _him_ to do filthy things to you.”

Her resistance snapped. _“Yes!”_   She shouted. “ _Yes!_ I do! Now please, just _stop!_ ” Frisk’s eyes were watering, she struggled to keep the tears from falling. How did they always see through her? Was she so transparent? Were her sins so visible? _Was she really so weak?_

“What does your god think about that?” He reached forward and lifted the small silver cross that dangled from her neck. “Do you even deserve to wear this?”

_No._

Before Frisk could speak he dropped the cross and took a step forward, the deep red of his eyes were all she could see. He reached behind her neck and gently unclasped the chain of her necklace. She made no move to stop him. It slowly slid from around her neck and fell onto the carpet without a sound.

Frisk inhaled shakily, looking away from Chara as he continued to circle her.

“How did you fall down here, Frisk? You didn't trip, did you?”

“No,” she answered honestly.

“Then how?”

“I…” Frisk faltered. “I was… I… jumped.”

Frisk could feel his sadistic grin grow, his breath blowing against the small hairs on the back of her neck.

“And rather than start anew with this second chance… You lust after my brother.” Chara clucked his tongue. “Naughty, aren't we?”

 _“Very,”_ Frisk agreed in a whisper. Her body was already reacting to his close proximity. She was a disgrace, her body was a disgrace, it really was.

Chara said nothing more, but Frisk felt hands slipping around her waist. She heard the sound of his robe dropping to the floor. She felt the heat of his chest against her back. The tears that had been fixed to the corners of her eyes finally fell.

He pulled her against him, brushed waves of hair from her neck, exposing it to the cool air and then to his lips. “You can say his name if you want, I don’t mind,” Chara murmured against her skin, his teeth nipping her neck slightly before he soothed it with his tongue.

Frisk stared vacantly at the wall in front of her, it was littered in family pictures and also scenes from the garden. She felt incredibly distant from the familial warmth depicted there, like she's never been part of it in the first place. Lord knows she never deserved to.

Chara's hand was flat on her stomach and it slowly moved up to knead her breast through the fabric of Asriel’s t-shirt. Chara was going to ruin her for him.

She was already ruined.

Frisk could feel disgusting heat between her legs as he pressed himself against her. She knew he was truly enjoying this and the smallest part of her was too. Her skin had been itching for this kind of touch for _weeks._ He guided them back toward her bed, moving away from her and laying her onto the cool covers. She imagined it was Asriel’s warm hands on her. He crawled on top of her and just as Frisk saw the top of his brown bangs she closed her eyes. He chuckled, his voice was close and she felt his breath on her lips. She turned her head away.

“That’s where you draw the line, hmm?” Chara taunted. “Dressed in his clothes with me on top of you, yet you won’t kiss me?” Frisk felt his lips on her earlobe, “Seems a little pointless, does it not?”

Frisk said nothing.

Chara scoffed, “Fine, other things I can use my mouth for…” he said, humming softly. Frisk felt him begin to push her shirt up, over her stomach, then her breasts. She lifted her arms for him to take them off, but he gently coaxed her to put them down. “I want you to leave it on… Smell him while I’m fucking you.” Frisk flinched, eyes snapping open.

Chara was scaling down her body, hand pressed between her legs, mouth over one of her breasts. “What?” He asked, “That’s what this is, Frisk. _Fucking._ ”

Heat exploded in her and she swallowed, “I-I know… It’s just… vulgar.”

Chara smirked, “Then it’s perfect for you.” He took her nipple between his lips and lightly pinched the other. She whimpered slightly, back arching. She could feel two of his fingers gently rubbing the juncture between her legs through the fabric of her white, cotton panties.

“I know you're no virgin, don't play coy…”

Frisk appreciated his bluntness in a way. They dolled it up where she was from, calling it everything other than what it was. Fornication… lechery… never had one of them said ‘fucking.’ Not ‘sex’ either. They spoke of it like it wasn’t something to enjoy. In fact, they spoke of it like women should dread the day they lose their innocence. Frisk felt like she bloomed once that pesky thing was gone, and she resented herself for it.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him… And I’ve seen you try not to…”

He kissed all over her chest, sucking harshly around each breast, dark red marks spotting them and cascading down her ribs. Frisk helped him pull off her panties and she almost moaned at the sight of him tugging them down with his teeth. He pulled them off quickly with his hands once they were halfway down her thighs.

“Spread your legs, sweet thing.”

Frisk shivered and let her thighs fall apart. She felt suffocated by her shame, here she had been given a chance to restart.

All she had to do was resist temptation.

Chara flattened his tongue over her wet center, red eyes peering up at her over her mound.

Just why did failing to do so feel so good?

He sucked her sensitive bud with purpose, causing her to moan loudly and cup a hand over her own mouth. He reached up and yanked the hand away, “Be as loud as you want to, my sweet,” she could feel his hot breath over her core, “they won’t hear you.”

His mouth was on her again and this time she screamed. His slender fingers slipped between her thighs and then her puffy folds. Two, then three pumping in and out of her as he continued sucking the bud of nerves like his life depended on it. He was unabating and incessant, never giving her a moment to catch her breath. It was a punishing pace, a rough tempo.

Frisk saw stars quickly after that, releasing with abandon, her body wracking with delicious, addictive sin. She felt so awake, so alive, so disgusting, but reinvigorated.

“Beautiful,” Chara was over her now, looking down at her flushed face, his lips glistening with her residue. He kept a hand between her legs, tracing over the crescent shaped scars on the innermost areas of her thighs. “Are these from your struggles…?” He asked, she nodded then flinched as his thumb ran over the freshest one, red left on his hand and smeared across her skin. “Was this one for me?” He whispered.

Frisk felt tears slip from her eyes once more and he kissed them away with his dirtied lips. “Beautiful,” he repeated against her cheek. She sat up with him and watched him move off the bed.

He slipped off his boxers, Frisk’s eyes finally followed that sinful trail, gaze dropping down his toned abdomen, to the V of his hips, and finally to his- “Close your eyes,” he said.

She closed them.

A hand on her chest pushed her back onto the bed and she felt his naked form crawl over hers. The shirt bunched over her breasts was pushed over her mouth and nose and Frisk was flooded with the scent of golden flowers and cinnamon.

Frisk felt his hand take hers and bring it down between them. He guided her to wrap a hand around his length, hard as stone, hot as hell. Larger than Frisk anticipated. Almost the size she imagined _his._ She inadvertently licked her lips. Chara’s hips settled between her thighs and Frisk gently guided him to her entrance, slick and dripping.

She imagined Asriel saying sweet words to her. She imagined he would be afraid of hurting her. She imagined she was pure for him.

Instead she was a whore for Chara.

“I wonder…” Chara’s voice was by her ear, “Should I fuck you like the whore you are?”

It was almost like he’d heard her thoughts.

He licked her ear, “Or… like I’m him?”

Frisk gave him a shaky, one word answer as the swollen head of his cock brushed against her slick entrance:

_“Asriel.”_

Chara’s hips pushed forward and inch by inch he slid into her. Frisk’s mouth opened in a silent moan, her senses filled with Asriel’s scent and Chara’s cock.

He’d only entered about halfway when he pulled out and slammed back in fully, hips flush against hers. Frisk screamed in shock and pleasure.

 _“Fuck!”_ Chara swore, hips begin a fast rhythm. He thrust into her had, the sound of their skin meeting filling the room. Frisk huffed under the shirt, feeling unable to breathe, but also feeling she didn’t deserve to.

“So tight, sweet thing, fuck… You can’t tell me you don’t一 _ah_ 一like this, can you?”

Frisk moaned and shook her head.

“Tell me otherwise then,” he panted, hilting in her before drawing out again.

“I like it…” she whimpered.

“Louder!”

“I LIKE IT!”

“Filthy, you’re filthy aren’t you, kitten?”

“I’m filthy. Oh god, I’m filthy! AH! More, please!” She arched against him, hips pushing into his thrusts, familiar heat building in her. Frisk wrapped her arms around him, breasts bouncing against his chest, their skin slick with sweat.

Chara moaned lowly, she could feel him watching her. “God, yes you’re filthy and broken. I love it, I love it, I love you.” He ripped the shirt down then and pressed his lips to hers.

Frisk yelped into the kiss, nails raking down his back, she bit his lip and they both tasted iron. “I love you, I love you…” He continued, hands on either side over her face.

 _Shut up,_ she wanted to say. _Stop saying that!_   But damn if it didn't make her hot… To imagine that his brother was the one saying it.

He fucked her hard still, and Frisk’s eyes rolled back. She heard him chuckle. “It’s funny…” he said breathily, hips stilling for a second, deep inside of her. Frisk’s mouth was agape, a small moan falling out. His red eyes were ablaze like fire. “You made that same face when I killed you.”

Frisk stared incredulously, but her vision soon spotted with white as he pulled back and then slammed into a spot she never knew existed.

She cried out Asriel’s name, legs trembling and wrapping around Chara’s hips.

“Beautiful, beautiful…” Chara chanted, “Fuck, you’re the best thing, Frisk… You’re _ah, fuck fuck…_ ” He crashed his hips forward and spilled into her, Frisk felt his length twitching violently within her, each lean muscle of his flexing as he went rigid above her. Frisk’s erratic breaths slowly calmed as he lay on top of her, gently pressing small kisses to her neck as they both relaxed, trembling with aftershocks sporadically.

She breathed in. She breathed out.

Frisk then remembered what he said before.

“Chara…” she mumbled. He licked her neck and she made a sound of disgust, knowing her skin was beaded with sweat. “Chara, why would you say something so scary?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, drawing away from her neck and shifting off of her, pulling out from between her legs and leaving her with a hollow feeling. She always hated that feeling.

She knew her guilt would fill that hollow place instead.

“You know what you said,” she insisted.

“So do you,” he countered, reaching forward and gently stroking the side of her face, brushing a curl of hair away. The air in the room felt humid and smelled of sex. Frisk was uncomfortable, the blankets were sticking to her reminding her of what she'd done and who it had truly been with. He was smiling at her, red eyes lidded somnolently, carmine color dull with affection.

“So why一"

“Why him?” Chara asked, “Why is it Asriel… that you care for?” He traced her profile, finger running down her collar bone, breast, belly, and thigh.

Frisk’s lips thinned. “It just is.”

He laughed a wry laugh and rested his head on her shoulder, arm over her chest, the side of her body melding to his front.

“People like us, can never be with people like him.”

She furrowed her brows and let that simmer. Somehow, she knew he didn't mean humans and monsters. He meant sinners and saints, or something like it.

Frisk stared at the ceiling. Her hair was a tousled mess, frizzy and puffed out. She glanced down and his was messy too, she doesn't even remember running her fingers through it, but she must've. Frisk was used to this feeling of regret in her stomach. Every time, whether they were getting dressed across the room, or still laid with her like Chara is now. When the high of her climax has died away she is left with that insistent question of _why?_

Why did she just do that?

She didn't even _want_ to. She just _had_ to.

Just because she couldn't get who she really wanted. Pathetic. Frisk thumbed through his hair gently, her lashes low as she contemplated. She glanced over the side of the bed and frowned, her silver necklace was on the rug, cross shining softly in the light from the hall.

Had this been a test?

Had God placed temptation in her midst to truly see if she could resist? To see if she really deserved this second chance?

Frisk’s eyes stung, what a failure she’d proven to be. Why did he create her with such desires in the first place?

Why did he damn her so?

Why did he make sin so delicious?

It wasn't fair.

“You sure cry a lot,” Chara observed, his head lifted from her chest and he propped up on his elbow. His other hand reached forward and swiped away the tears.

Frisk felt herself smile with mirth. “I-I do, yeah…”

“Why?” Chara asked. “Are you ashamed of what we did?”

Frisk’s brows lifted. Her past partners had all been devout worshippers like her. Each understood why she would cry, or seem so empty. None would care. “You said it earlier…” Frisk mumbled, “It’s a sin…”

_Not to mention she betrayed whatever she could've had with Asriel._

“But are you ashamed?”

She nodded and sat up, pulling the shirt that had been bunched above her chest down. Chara sat up as well and rested a hand on her thigh, gently pulling it to the side. “This is your shame,” he stated, finger ghosting over her scars, small crescent shapes dashing the paler area.

She nodded again, though he hadn't been asking. Frisk stiffened as Chara brought his head forward, dipping between her legs. She felt his lips press to the scarred skin. He pressed a kiss to one, then to two, then three… he was kissing each healed wound silently. Frisk shivered, her face hot. The room was silent for a minute or two, save for the sound of Chara's lips drawing away from abused skin.

Frisk gazed into his red eyes afterwards and her tears finally stilled.

“I love you, Frisk,” Chara said softly, he took her hand and placed it on the side of his face. She held it there as he leaned forward. “You fell down here for _me._ ”

She didn't bite his lip this time. She let him kiss her. The taste of iron still lingered between them. It was a ridiculous notion, Frisk knew. She couldn't have fallen down here for any specific person. Though, maybe it was a point to be proven. Maybe it was Chara she deserved.

Still sitting between her legs, Chara brought her closer until she straddled his lap. Frisk’s hands went into his hair and his to her hips.

His tongue was soft against hers, the kiss was slow and languid. She drew away for a moment. “I want you, again.”

Chara smiled softly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "And who would I be to deny?"

Frisk lifted her hips and moved off of his lap. Chara’s brows furrowed and he simply watched as she leaned down, his hazy maroon eyes ghosting over the expanse of her golden back. He felt her breath on him before he felt her mouth.

Chara’s head fell back, lips parting in a silent moan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First full-on sex scene that I've written. Kinda proud, though it's about time.
> 
> If that seemed like it came out of nowhere, sorry. I kinda wrote this fic for fun, I didn't put _so_ much plot-work in it. Though if you have questions about a character, lmk. I don't mind clarifying.
> 
> BUT to give you some perspective, I wrote this fic with three stories in mind: I had been obsessed with the Heathers musical soundtrack, I'd recently rewatched the horror movie HUSH on Netlfix, _and_ I played some of Outlast 2. All that led to this fun mess.
> 
> EDIT: If you want a happy ending, just end here. C:


	4. Chapter Four*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Insanity—doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."  
> -Albert Einstein
> 
> The curtain draws back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the last chapter, I know I have five marked, but the next is really a short bonus ending that I didn't want to add to this chap.
> 
> Remember the rating and warnings placed!
> 
> Enjoy~

She had to flip them, he was tiring as even the most virile men often did.

It was alright though, Frisk could go for hours on top if need be.

His fingers gripped her hips so tightly that Frisk had no doubt she would have bruises there come morning; she couldn't care less in this moment. Frisk was on a high, one she never wanted to come down from. If she could live her entire life chasing the next orgasm, she would.

Hell, she already did.

The room was filled with panting. Frisk’s hips rocked, they lifted, they twisted, eliciting moans from the pale lover below her like clockwork. Her hands were flat on his damp chest, nails digging across the clammy skin as her fingers curled. She felt him tense up and she stopped, crying out, “Not yet!”

His hands gripped at her, “Please, please, _fuck_ , please!” She gazed into his red eyes, wide and dim. He was on that beautiful precipice of unraveling.

How badly he wanted it.

Frisk couldn't stop the smile that pulled over her lips as she shook her head, denying him. “I want this to last…” Only when he stilled did Frisk slowly move her hips again, bumping that spot of utter pleasure.

“Me too…” she heard Chara say below her.

Frisk had a feeling they weren't talking about the same thing. She felt a strange guilt, strange because even on the cusp of oblivion it still managed to bother her.

She allowed him release after that.

 

 

They were still in bed together afterwards, both quivering with exhaustion. Frisk laid halfway on top of Chara, her leg thrown over his hips, breasts against the side of his chest, his arm on the small of her back.

Frisk had tried coaxing him for more, but it had no effect.

He had been quieter the third time and she didn't understand it. He was tired, but Frisk wasn't naive enough to believe that was the only issue.

Was he upset because she hadn't said those three words back? Didn't he know how she felt already?

She hadn't thought about Asriel _much_ that last time, but her feelings for him hadn't changed. Her feelings about Chara hadn't changed either, though she was slightly less intimidated by him. She had seen an entirely new side of him just now and wasn't quite sure what to do with it. She looked up at his face, tracing the sharp and hairless line of his jaw, examining the cherub blush of his cheeks, drawn to the redness of his curved lips. How simple it would be to conjure up feelings for him and be done with it. Still, she felt nothing of that nature.

The sex had been good, though.

“You’ll probably need to shower again,” Frisk mumbled, looking up at Chara. His damp hair was matted to the sides of his smooth face and forehead.

He didn’t respond. She wondered if he expected her to say something. She tried:

“Are you upset?”

He glanced down at her and chuckled, shaking his head. “How can I be?” The room was quiet again. Frisk frowned and moved away. She searched around for her (Asriel’s) shirt and found it discarded at the edge of the bed. She scooted forward and felt a hand on her wrist. She wanted to shake it away, she’d spent enough time with him already.

“We should probably get up,” she said. “Asriel might be wondering where we are.”

He laughed then. “He’s not.”

“Is he out?”

Chara laughed again, eyes closing as he laid flat on the bed, “Yeah, he’s out.”

She didn’t see what was funny. Frisk grabbed the shirt and put it on anyways. “Surely he wouldn't mind our company.”

Chara opened one eye languidly, a frown twitching onto his lips, “Can we just stay here a little longer?”

“And do what?” Frisk inquired, looking back.

Chara glanced down. “Just… lay here, maybe?” His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it.

Frisk slid off the bed. “You can.”

The shirt fell over her thighs and her legs felt like jelly. A self-induced sickness coiled in her belly. Would it even be right to go see Asriel after… this? She bit her lip.

Would he hate her?

_Would he have to know?_

Frisk walked over to the wardrobe and grabbed her dark blue and purple striped sweater dress. Toriel had stitched the split in the side the first night Frisk stayed. If Chara wasn't going to shower, she would. Asriel would undoubtedly smell Chara all over her, the caprine had a keen nose.

She looked over her shoulder at the youngest Dreemurr, his pale body stretched across her bed, sheets pooled over his hips. “Can we… keep this between us?” She asked quietly. “Like… forever?”

For a long moment he stared at her, not a single emotion on his picturesque face. Finally, a familiar smirk drew across his lips, “Us?” He paused, letting the word marinate in the musky air. “Sure.”

Frisk left the room, closing the door behind her. The hall was dark, she wasn't sure when exactly the lights had died out. The wood floors felt colder than usual. She wrapped her arms around herself. Toriel and Asgore must be out too.

Frisk headed down the hall into the bathroom and hoped Chara didn’t use all the hot water earlier. Her toes pressed into a cold puddle of water and she rolled her eyes. _He doesn’t even dry the floor afterwards, geez._ Despite his pristine appearance, Chara could be a real slob; inconsiderate. Unlike his brother. Asriel always left the bathroom in tip-top shape when he was done, like he’d never been there at all. She smiled at that.

He was so perfect.

Guilt gnawed at her stomach, but she chased it away as she stepped into the bathroom, nearly slipping on the wet tile. “Christ,” she cursed quietly and carefully made her way to the sink, setting down her clothes and then reaching for the oil lamp.

She slowly twisted the switch of the lamp, bright orange glow illuminating the small bathroom. Frisk yawned and looked at her reflection. A shower would definitely be a good idea. She could see exhilaration practically dancing off of her golden skin. The afterglow; Frisk didn't enjoy it. She wanted to forget that it ever happened once it was done. "Idiot," she told herself. The reflection looked hurt and Frisk felt guilty. It wasn't entirely her fault anyway, was it?

'Psychosexual manifestation,' that is what she was deemed with on the surface. How old had she been, then? Thirteen? Maybe fourteen? Frisk remembers the way the mistress gasped in shock; that had been the last day the cruel woman ever showed Frisk a lick of care. On the way back to the orphanage, she had told Frisk how the devil slipped inside her the minute she spread her legs. When Frisk didn't look at her, the bitch had snatched her by the hair, "You'll keep those legs of yours closed from now on, won't you?" She had asked with her raspy smoker's lungs. Cicadas were chirping in from the forest, the sky was growing dark. Frisk just wanted to be inside, mosquitoes were eating her filthy legs alive. "Yes, ma'am." She hadn't meant it though, of course she hadn't. Frisk had someone else on top of her within the week.

How was it that she was the sinful one? Was she really so far from grace? Man and woman were created to what? Hold hands? Frisk sighed and willed the ideas away. Whatever was right or wrong; it's done. She'll be a better person tomorrow.

The orange light of the lamp danced and flickered, if she squinted it reminded Frisk of the sun; a burning ball of light fighting away the darkness. The girl lifted her head, determined to face herself and try to like what she saw. Her bangs almost fell over her brown eyes and she gently raised her hand to pull back the curtain. When Frisk brushed a hand through her unruly hair, she noticed a smear of red left on her forehead.

“Hm?”

Her gaze dropped to her hand and she knitted her brows together. The tips of her fingers and palms were red. Frisk looked at the counter, it was wiped with traces of red. Frisk’s eyes widened and she looked down at the floor, it was all splattered with _red._

She screamed and stepped backwards, her foot slipping and sending her tumbling to the floor into a huge puddle of it. It was blood. There was blood _everywhere._

 For a moment her voice was stuck in her throat; she released it soon enough.

“Chara!” She shouted, “Chara! Get out here!!”

Frisk scrambled to her feet, her entire side drenched.  _Where is it all from?_ She thought, looking around for a... source.

Footsteps sounded from down the hall and Frisk grabbed the oil lamp before darting out of the bathroom. She noticed the hallway floors were reddened too. A trail leading right to the bathroom. Her eyes stung.

It all felt familiar, but she knew that was impossible.

“What’s up?” Chara asked. Frisk noticed he’d taken the time to get dressed - wearing a fresh outfit, dark pants and his trademark sweater.

“Look!” Frisk cried, waving the lamp around, illuminating the blood that decorated the halls. “A-And there’s more in the ba-bathroom! Chara, we have to find Asriel and get out of here!”

Chara continued walking forward, nonplussed by the blood he stepped through. “Sounds like a plan,” he said nonchalantly. Frisk’s eyes widened, “Do you see this!?” Her voice cracked, “Chara so-someone… Someone’s really hurt.”

“I’d say.” He pushed past Frisk into the bloody bathroom, eyes vacantly scanning over the area. “Frisk, did you even… look to see where all this was coming from?” He asked.

Her brows knitted together and she stepped back, stomach lurching at the sight of him walking through the large puddle of blood she’d just fallen in. “I-I mean, I just…”

Chara shook his head and crouched, looking into the blood and then following the puddle to the towel closet, “Because…” He stood, Frisk watched with blurry eyes. “It seems like it’s coming from…”

“Chara…” Frisk murmured.

“Right, _here.”_ Chara reached forward and opened the closet.

_Thud._

Frisk stared in silence.

“W-What?” She dropped the lantern, glass shattering and cutting into her feet. She didn’t feel it. Her body shook.

Asriel had tumbled out from the closet, white fur stained in red, unmoving. “Aw,” Chara sighed. “That lamp was expensive.”

Frisk screamed. She screamed until tears spilled from her eyes and her vocal chords were rubbed raw. “Wh-Why did… Did… How… I-Is he...” She sputtered, her mouth dry. She kept trying to look away, but she couldn’t. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. She stared at Asriel’s hand laid out, a few claws broken, utterly still.

 _“‘Are you upset?’”_ Chara asked, he stepped over Asriel’s body without so much as a second glance. “I wouldn’t be… Now he never has to know, right?” Chara grinned. “He _can’t_ know.”

Frisk stepped back, walking backwards until she pressed against the wall. Her eyes were huge, brown irises onyx, light shimmered in her tears. “You did this?” She asked, “You killed your brother?”

Chara shrugged and stopped by the sink, opening the drawer and reaching inside. “I saved him,” he said quietly. His hand emerged from the drawer with a bloodied knife. Frisk had seen it in the kitchen before. “From you, _whore.”_ She flinched. The word was spoken with such ice, Frisk was surprised she couldn't see his breath. It wasn't honest in an arousing sense like it had been earlier, before they had become a tangle of heated limbs, no. It was brutal, meant to smart.

Though they were fully healed, Frisk could feel the phantom pain of the wounds on her legs. Rather than cool wood floors, she felt mud gathering below her feet. 

Her mind spun and her vision did too.

"I-I'm not..." She said.

Only it wasn't Chara who spoke, nor was it Chara she was talking to.

The mistress stood in his place, whip in her hand rather than the knife, the gray sky raining its own tears down on them.

“Whore!” They all cried. Even the boy she’d laid with - he stood with everyone else, watching her torment like he didn't deserve it as well. Frisk didn't make a sound when the first lash was delivered. She felt he skin rise with a welt, she felt the burn, but her eyes were stuck on the boy. He didn't look away, either. He felt no shame and Frisk found herself drowning in it. Another lash was delivered, this time to her calf. Her scream flew into the darkening sky. Frisk's legs wanted to give out, just so she could curl up and hold herself in the earnest, loving way no one else would. But an odd determination prevented her from doing just that. She refused to be crushed under the weight of her sins. Not in front of that woman. “Count! Count so we can all know just how many have delved between your legs, Frisk!” The mistress said; cruel snickers sounded from the crowd of peers.

"Tw-two...” Frisk whispered. Another lash, blood mixed with the rain running down her legs. “Louder this time!”

Frisk glared up into the woman’s cold dark eyes, “Three.”

Another lash.

She counted.

Another lash.

She counted.

She began to fear the sound of the whip more than the pain of leather against her flesh.

“Whore!” They cried again and again.

Frisk felt bile in the back of her throat. Her bleeding legs trembled, hair glued to the sides of her face with cold rain.

Her shoes were sliding into the mud, her mouth was agape in preparation for another scream.

“Whore!” The other orphans cried. The woman raised her crop. Then, a miracle happened, the world flashed white. The tree in the center of the courtyard was suddenly ablaze with fire. Everyone turned and stared, even Frisk. The tree burned impossibly, orange and red dancing together with ferocity unlike anything Frisk had ever seen. 

She saw salvation in the flames, she saw mercy. Frisk ran while they were distracted. She ran into the forest at the foot of Ebott mountain, kissing her cross as she did.

Something in her broke, but at least she hadn't fallen.

She jumped instead.

She had thought no fate could be crueler than the one she chose to leave. 

Frisk blinked the memory away, her cheeks were wet and Chara was before her once more.

He tapped the knife to his chin gently, “You must know that I love you for it, Frisk.” She shook her head, but he kept talking, “I love every broken, damaged, whorish part of you.”

Frisk couldn't control the twitching of her lips, she couldn't stop the flaring of her nostrils, her body wouldn't stop shaking. The word _love_ didn't even sound right coming from him. Chara took a step forward and Frisk’s legs finally unlocked. She didn't hesitate.

The girl ran.

She felt shards of the lamp embed themselves further into her feet with each step, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t even know if he would chase, she _prayed_ he wouldn’t. But what good would praying do for her now?

Frisk wondered if this really was hell after all; if she had been idiotic to ever think otherwise. Frisk thought about Asriel’s green eyes. She thought about his smile. She thought about his laugh. It was her own fault she’d never see him again, wasn't it?

She turned into the living room and looked around for a weapon of any sort. She ran into the kitchen and did the same. All the silverware was gone. There were no knives. He must’ve hid them. She couldn't get her hands to stop shaking, each part of her body had a mind of its own, fears of their own.

“Frisk!”

She dropped to the floor, cupping a hand over her mouth and slowly crawling toward one of the larger cabinets under the sink.

“You’d think after all these times I would catch you before you leave my sight.”

 _All these times?_ Frisk didn’t understand. Quietly, she opened the cabinet and shuffled inside, bumping her head against the top and sucking in a yelp.

“What can I say? Guess I love a chase,” he continued.

_So familiar._

Frisk scooted as far back into the cabinet as she could, ducking under the pipes below the sink. His voice was closer now, in all honestly, the hiding place was rushed - he'd find her. She bit her lip and slowly picked the glass from her foot.

“You’re probably thinking I’m a monster. Like, metaphorically, but it's all relative, Frisk. It’s unimportant. They're unimportant. Utterly simple, all of them!”

Frisk heard a base in his voice, a rage scratching to get out. She could only imagine the fire in his eyes.

“I learned that long before you fell… I learned that I wasn't like them. I wasn't good like Azzy, like Ma or Dad… I wasn't simple. And I was alone in that... until _you.”_

His voice wasn't moving anymore, it was like he was standing there in the living room. How could he be so confident?

“Ironically what I wanted was _simple_ in itself. I wanted simply unsimple and that's you…” she heard his lips smack, “You’re like a clock, so many complications, so many layers, so much pain. Each time you fall, I learn a little more… _and_ a little less.”

His voice was moving again now and Frisk stiffened.

“I peel and I peel away, but no matter _what_ I do you always see him first. It's like you can't get that initial gaze out of your beautiful _fucking_ mind!”

Frisk heard something shatter. She cracked the cabinet door to peek out just slightly. Something had been broken, thrown against the wall adjacent to the kitchen. Her eyes lowered to the little pieces when she noticed the red footprints that lined the floor.  _Hers -_ leading right up to the cabinet she was hidden in.

He’d known exactly where she was.

Frisk’s eyes darkened, he was toying with her. _You can't hide_ , she told herself, sitting back and allowing the cabinet to silently close. Her fingers drew up to her neck and she swallowed down the paralyzing fear of death.

“How many times to we have to do this until you understand that he would never accept you, Frisk?”

She heard his voice loud and clear. A shadow passed through the crack of the cabinet. Her back was springing with pain, but she refused to move a muscle, poised in a way that she could defend herself when he found her.

“You think he would have coddled you if he’d known that you went behind his back and fucked his brother?”

The shadow passed again, but stopped halfway. She heard the knife scrape against the wood of the counter, then screech as it was dragged over the metal of the sink.

She heard his knees pop as he crouched in front of the cabinet. She heard the squeaking of the hinges as the door opened.

“He would never accept you like I do.”

“MURDERER!” Frisk screamed, leg jutting out and slamming Chara square in the chest. She grabbed for the knife, but it slashed her hand. Frisk scrambled out of the cabinet and quickly crawled on all fours out the kitchen, scurrying to stand before sprinting through the living room.

Her cut feet were still tracking red, the gash on her hand burned, and the side of her shirt was drenched in blood, but it didn't matter. She wasn't going to hide, she just needed to run. Cowardice would not bring her shame, not now.

“Can't you see that I’m the one you deserve, Frisk? You EARNED ME!” His voice chased after her and crashed down like a tidal wave.

Did she really deserve this?

Frisk almost ran past the basement steps, but she quickly backtracked and stepped down them, wincing in pain at the impact. It was freezing.  _Patpatpatpatpatpat!_ She darted through the shadows. Frisk had never actually been down here before. It seemed like a straight shot through darkness, not a single sconce lit. Frisk regretted losing that oil lamp.

“Friiiisssskkkkk?”

His voice echoed down the stone walls. She held her bleeding hand against her chest and continued running. There _had_ to be an exit, Toriel and Asgore always left through this way. There was a spot of light up ahead, a room with the door wide open, lamp still lit. She had half a mind to run past it, but curiosity got the best of her.

Frisk peeked inside and wish she hadn't.

Neither Toriel nor Asgore had been out either.

She saw their bodies in there. There was blood trickling from their nostrils and mouth, faint. They held half-full teacups. Toriel’s had fallen and shattered on the floor. Frisk forced herself not to vomit. She forced herself not to collapse. She didn't have time.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered before continuing her mad dash down the hall.

“I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…” Frisk panted.

_This was all her fault._

This was her personal hell.

The sound of knife against stone-wall tripped her up slightly. She pressed against the wall and found her hand brushing a corner. There was a turn, the hall was turning left. Her sticky thighs rubbed slightly as she slowed, her chest burning. She picked her speed up again. It was getting colder. Frisk thought she could see a door down the hall where there was a single sconce burning yellow.

The door was enormous, it seemed to stretch with height the closer she got, the Dreemurr crest decorated the top. Frisk wasn't positive she’d be able to push it, but she’d be damned if she didn't try (she already was damned and she knew it). Frisk felt uncoordinated without her cross bouncing against her chest as she ran, her neck felt naked. She would never admit that she loved the feeling, but God probably knew.

God probably knew she had meant to die when she jumped, too.

The hell he sent her to wasn't what they preached about. It was nothing like the paintings in the closet the mistress oftentimes locked her in.

“You're slowing down, Frisk!” 

But it was hell nonetheless.

She pushed herself harder.

Her face fixed into the same glare she’d worn that rainy day when she was disciplined before the entire orphanage. Frisk refused to fall then and she refused to fall now either. Her palms landed flat onto the worn wood of the large door at the end of the corridor. She pushed. She pushed _harder._ It was hardly budging, as if it was sunk three feet deep in mud. Her body hit a slant as she threw her entire weight into the effort, letting out mewls and grunts of effort. She flipped around and pressed her back against it; her bare, bloody feet slid against the cold stone floor.

She saw movement in the darkness. Chara had just rounded the corner.

He was running now, should could hear the quick _almost_ mute steps. Frisk reflexively squealed and her body trembled as she pushed at the door. “Open! Please, _God_ , open!” It wasn't God who answered, of course. “Yeah, God… be a gent for the gal and open the door.” He was only yards away, run slowing into a cocky walk, knife at his side as he swaggered down the corridor, entering the field of yellow light.

“Just, stop!” Frisk screamed, “What is wrong with you?” She started crying, _again._ “You had everything! EVERYTHING! A house to live in, hot meals every night, a yard to run in, a family who loved you! AND YOU THREW IT ALL AWAY FOR WHAT!?”

“YOU!” Chara matched her yelling, perfect face contorting into a mask of rage, white teeth bared like an animal’s. He slashed the knife across thin air, “I DIDN’T GET TO HAVE YOU!”

“WE _FUCKED!_ ” Frisk shouted, growing more comfortable with the colloquialism. “YOU HAD ME!”

“You think that’s _enough?"_  He stopped. _That’s right,_ Frisk thought, _just stay put…_ The door was giving slightly, it got a little easier the more it opened. All she had to do was entertain him long enough and keep him at a distance.

“Your body isn’t what I want, that was _easy._ So fucking easy! I could’ve probably asked nicely and you’d be on all fours.”

Frisk frowned.

She wasn’t even sure he was entirely wrong.

“I _want_ what you were willing to give _him."_

Confusion painted itself on her face. _What was I willing to give him?_

Her body.

Her devotion.

Her heart.

Love.

Frisk’s legs trembled, her skin stung all over, the gash on her hand was still steadily bleeding.

“‘Love is patient, love is kind.’” Her voice quivered, Chara’s lanky figure blurring.

“What?”

“‘It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.’”

She saw his head tilt, “What are y-”

“‘It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no account of wrongs.’”

Chara chuckled and began forward. Frisk spoke quickly, voice straining as she pressed her back against the door harder. The door gave and gave, noticeably open now.

“‘Love takes no pleasure in evil,’” she panted, the crack almost wide enough for her to slip through.  _“Frisk!”_ Chara shouted.

“‘But rejoices in the truth! It bears all things,’”

“Frisk close that fucking door!”

“‘Believes all things!’” She raised her voice and his lip curled.

“‘Hopes all things,’”

He reached a hand forward.

“‘Endures all things.’”

She pushed it away.

“‘Love never fails!’” He reached again and she grabbed his wrist, twisting it. He didn’t react, and she twisted harder, panicked gaze shooting between his hand and his looming eyes. Something in his wrist cracked and he advanced anyway, backing her against the door.

BANG!

Frisk flinched as the knife slammed into the wood right by her head, so close it nicked her ear. Her face was tight, “1 Corinthians 13.”

“Are you done speaking in tongues, or do you want to keep distracting me, because I can think of better ways.” She felt his breath on her face. Frisk opened her eyes - they were almost nose to nose.

“You don’t love me, Chara,” she said.

His eyes widened, a gleam flashing over them, “Sweet-”

“Love is not selfish, you _brat,”_ Frisk spat, “If you were listening, you’d know that.”

All Chara did was watch her lips as she talked, he was beyond listening. He was beyond reason. “You can play hard to get all you want, sweet thing. We only have an eternity.”

Frisk brought her knee up hard, right into Chara’s crotch. She dropped his mangled wrist and reached across her body to snatch the knife from the door. She didn’t manage to pull it away the first time and gave it up. She barreled forward into Chara and he tumbled to the floor, pulling the knife from the door effortlessly as he did.

Frisk hurried toward the open side of the door but he grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her down to his level.  Her chin smacked against the cold stone floor and her teeth clacked together painfully. Head whirling with pandemonium, she thought she imagined the movement she saw from the corner of her eye.

Chara lifted the knife and stabbed it into her calf, pulling it out just as abruptly. Frisk howled in agony, fist pounding the floor as she attempted to wriggle away. Blood gushed from the wound. She slid across the floor with another yank, screaming as he flipped her and crawled on top of her, knife to her throat. He pressed the sharp metal under her chin until beads of blood formed.

“He told me that you’d never love me.” Chara was panting, a deranged look on his face. His face was so close that his hair hung over Frisk's face as well, trapping their twitching gazes together. Frisk hardly recognized him. “Asriel, I mean. While he was dying, I had to give him the whole spiel, you know? Hah… he was my brother and deserved to know just why he had to go.” Chara began to drag the knife down, tearing through her decrepit shirt.

“First he tried to convince me not to hurt you, which I told him I wouldn’t… If you acted like you gave a shit about how I feel.” There was cynical humor in his voice. Frisk’s body was throbbing with pain, one of her eyes closed as the knife pressed too hard over her sternum and dug into her skin slightly. “Then he told me that you’d never fall for someone like me. _Someone like me._ My own brother said that. I had to kill him quicker after, I wouldn’t hear another word.” The knife paused and Chara shifted his weight slightly, he’d been straddling Frisk’s waist, but he slid back to her hips. He looked up, jaw shaded in the darkness, pale skin phantasmic.

“You can’t imagine how good it felt to fuck you after hearing that,” he sighed, “Even if it was his name on your lips. It was still me. In fact, it showed me that you're not better, after all.” Frisk nearly gagged at the memory. How quickly things had spiraled. Chara looked back down to her and Frisk stared at him blankly. “We’re… the same, you and I…” He said quietly.

He blinked and so did she, opening her eyes a little narrower.

“I don't... entirely like this.” Chara breathed. Frisk balked. “I actually hate killing you, honestly. I hate that you make things so difficult... but don't they say that some things are worth fighting for?"

Her eyes widened as Chara searched for words, bangs falling over his brow.

“Wh-why do you speak like this has happened before?” She asked, hoping to put off her demise by a few minutes or so.

Chara smiled a little, “Because it has, sweet thing. A few times now, maybe five or six… It’s a neat trick you stole from me when you first fell, but I don’t mind. We can share it. I don't know how many times I died before I started to remember. I’ll keep a count for you.” Chara raised the knife above his head and Frisk screeched.

In that moment, Frisk felt it. The pain of multiple deaths. A blade to her stomach, hands around her throat, a violent push before a worse tumble… And she felt the nothingness after. She felt the cold, she tasted the darkness, the fear.

 _I don't want to die!_ Her mind screamed; her body followed through.

Frisk rolled to the side and the knife stabbed into her rib rather than her heart.

She found it hard to thank God for that, as she was too busy screaming in blinding pain.

Frisk grabbed the knife wielding hand as it drew up again, yanking Chara forward, sliding his sleeve up, and then opening her jaws. She bit into his forearm like she was _starving._ Frisk shook her head from side to side tearing more at the pale flesh she had pressed kisses to not even an hour before. Chara’s shouts sounded like gratification and she heard that bloody knife finally hit the floor. She shoved his writhing body off of her and snatched it - on her feet without a second's hesitance. 

Chara rolled onto his back, holding his forearm, a chunk of flesh missing from it.

Frisk spat it out, blood running down her chin.

Chara’s eyes met hers.

His grimace slowly curved into a smile.

Frisk's entire being shook with horror. She kicked him hard in the stomach and dug her heel into the area below his ribs, pointing the knife at him. Someone like him would never repent. Someone like him would never stop.

~~She was like him, in a way, wasn't she?~~

Frisk jabbed her heel in further and leaned down, raising the knife in the air. She thought about his panting face from before, the way he begged her for release, how he keened. She had wiped that smirk off of his face once, she could do it again, but there was a resistance in her bones.

_‘In your anger do not sin’ Ephisians 4:26-27_

Frisk was already a sinner. It was too late to change that.

_‘Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.’ Romans 12:21_

Frisk almost ignored that verse, ready to slice the smiling bastard in two, but she thought about Asriel and his kind green eyes, his luscious white fur, his warm embrace.

Asriel was good.

The green eyes she imagined faded to red and she looked down at Chara’s panting form, still holding that damn smirk.

Tears slipped down her face.

She really did cry a lot.

Wordlessly, she lifted her heel and ran to the door. Chara began to stir, but he would be too late. Frisk squeezed through the crack and slammed the door behind; her feet were pressed against an even icier stone floor. Frisk noticed a thick plank of wood discarded by the wall to her left and, with quick feet and hands, she used it to bar the door.

_Thud._

Frisk flinched away.

_THUDTHUDTHUDTHUD._

“FRISK!” She heard his muffled voice through the door. “FRISK DON’T LEAVE!”

She stepped forward and pressed and ear to the door.

“I’m so sorry…” The thuds grew weaker. “Frisk? Please… I love you, _please.”_   The thuds turned into scraping, “Are you there at all?”

She held her breath.

“You..." His voice lowered significantly. "You won't last long with those wounds. I'll see you again soon eno-”

Frisk stabbed the knife into the door, the wood was too thick to actually puncture fully, but she hoped he got the message. Her heart was thrumming in her chest, clanging against her ribs like they were its cage. She turned around and limped down this new hall with purple floors. She only took one look over her shoulder, eyes lingering on the knife she was leaving. A neutral expression befell her features and she continued on.

She wondered what else this hell had in store for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wild ride, huh?
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoyed this! Bonus end will be up soon, it's short, but I'm very fond of it.
> 
> Please, please let me know what you guys think!


	5. Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What lies ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short lil' bonus.

There was an expression the mistress would tell Frisk whenever her answer was no. Rather than simply telling Frisk _no,_ she would say:

_“When Hell has frozen over.”_

Hell has officially frozen over.

Frisk trudged, feet bare, through snow up to her mid calf. She’s tainted some of the pristine blanket of white around her red, her side still bleeding. Gelid wind blew into her face and buffeted through her frizzy waves of hair. The blood on her shirt had begun to freeze and stiffen the material. Her nose was red and her face stung.

Chara had been right. She wasn’t going to last long at all; there was no civilization in sight, she was following what she could only hope was a trail, and the only souls near her where those of the pine trees towering above her. She could hardly see a foot in front of her at times, when the wind would blow so hard that snow collected on tree branches would fall as well.

_Crack._

The girl's nerves were shot to hell. If Chara was behind her, so be it. Apparently she'd just come back anyways (as impossible as that sounds). She heard a singular footstep sound from behind her, a bit closer than the snapping twig had been. Frisk's icy hand stayed clamped over her chest, holding the tattered fabric of her shirt together. She had no shoes, not even pants. It was just her and this material remnant of Asriel against the blizzard.

Each blink grew slower, her eyelids heavier. She was cold to the point that it burned a bit, almost able to imagine she was too hot, instead. Frisk stumbled, she wobbled, and she fell backwards. Numbed surprise overtook her when she fell, not into the cold embrace of the snow, but into hard arms.

It hadn't been Chara, but a stranger.

The stranger helped her back to her feet, her body stiff like rigor mortis had come early. There were loud, crunching footsteps as this stranger walked to stand before her. Frisk wondered how she hadn't heard those loud steps sooner.

Frisk cracked the small seam of blood that sealed her lips to speak.

"Th-th-th-thank-"

"no problem, doll."

Frisk quieted, her teeth chattering. A skeleton stood before her. Exactly her height, large sockets with the smallest pits of light within them. He wore a masking grin on his skull as the spots of light moved over her face then down to her torso.

"i take it all that isn't ketchup, is it?"

Frisk caught some edge in his deep voice and she folded her arms tightly around herself, "N-No..." she said, "it isn't."

"you do something you regret, kid?"

Frisk looked up, his sockets were devoid of life.

_Regret?_

"Y-Yes," she answered. "But I-I d-didn't hu-rt.... an-anyone."

She thought about Chara's screams for her to come back. She could still taste the flesh from his forearm on her tongue.

"N-N-Not really," she concluded.

The skeleton listened, nodding slightly, then he removed his hand from the pocket of his jacket and held it out to her. Frisk examined it first, wary of everything that seemed nice. His fingers were like that of a skeleton's, she wondered how they were connected. There were no wires strung through them like a prop or model.

Magic?

Her fingertips hesitantly ghosted over his before Frisk took the hand and a loud embarrassing sound ripped out between them. Frisk squeaked, her face heating up, which was the oddest sensation in sub-zero weather.

"Wh-wh-what? Th-th-that..."

"whoopee cushion in the hand trick," the skeleton chuckled, lifting his hand and pulling down his sleeve. Frisk noticed the small deflated pink baggy.

How did she miss that?

Her gaze lowered and she noticed the intricate bones of his hand and wrist, then two thicker bones for his forearm.

She was intrigued.

"name's sans, sans the skeleton."

 _Sans..._ as in _without._

Frisk's cracked lips pulled into a smile and she began to giggle, a delayed reaction. Warmth spread in her chest.

"I-I'm F-Frisk a-and I-I thin-think I-I'm dy-dying..."

Despite her slight giggles, her vision was going in and out, she couldn't feel her toes, fingers, or lips.

"that's a funny name," Sans chuckled. He stepped forward and she flinched. He held two hands up. "not gonna hurt ya kid, honest... just gonna take you home. my bro and i can patch you up."

He reached again and Frisk backed away.

"aren't ya dyin, kid? c'mon."

"Y-You have a b-brother?" Frisk asked.

Sans nodded, "yeah. he's a human huntin' fanatic. it would actually be real great if you'd meet him. it would rattle his bones for sure. once yer all cleaned up that is."

Frisk stared at Sans and his perfectly symmetrical, rounded skull. Sans sighed and gently retracted his hands. He unzipped his jacket and slid it off. Frisk's eyes traced over the bones of his arms.

Sturdy and strong.

Her third had been big boned.

Sans was _literally_   big boned.

"here, we can walk if ya like, probably won't be very comfortable, but if ya won't let me touch ya, it's the best i can do."

How kind of him. Frisk took the jacket and wrapped it around herself. She pulled the fluffy hood over her head and zipped it all the way up to her nose.

It smelled like pine and salt.

That must be Sans' scent.

"Th-thank you." She pulled the collar down to speak. Sans nodded, "snow problem, doll."

Frisk giggled, but it turned into a cough. He laughed at that, "let's get going. let me know if you change your mind on the touching thing."

Frisk blanched.

Sans began to walk and she slowly began to walk too.

Frisk stared at the back of his skull as he moved slightly ahead. He made a few jokes and talked about his brother a lot; she gathered that he was the elder brother. His grin that never faltered added to his piquancy, it was so perfectly stretched, lipless yet strangely natural.

Frisk was quiet for the most part, watching fat snowflakes drift around them. Watching _him._

Sans didn't notice her hand between her thighs, pinching.

Frisk could feel her sins crawling on her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old habits die hard.  
> Wonder how events would unfold with this time. Doubt it'll be as traumatizing.  
> Think Chara and Frisk will meet again?
> 
> There's fun in leaving questions. This is my first completed multi-chapter fic. Even though it's short, I'm still excited! Anyways, thank you guys so much for reading! Hope you liked it!


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